


You Didn't Make The Cut

by carsatan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, jack is done with jesse's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carsatan/pseuds/carsatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission goes bad due to McCree, and 76 has had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Didn't Make The Cut

It had been a lengthy mission, his lungs ached, his muscles burned, crying for relief, for a moment of rest. How long had they been running? He couldn’t be sure, King’s Row was a long ways behind him. He could just barely see the tip of Big Ben in the distance. 

He tore his mask off, panting heavily as he collapsed against the river banks, the cowboy catching up with him quickly. Sweats dripped off of the tip of his nose as he tore his gloves off, tearing his jacket off as well. It was hot outside, and he was burning up. He was used to jogging, and he ran sometimes in the morning, but, running for your life like this, it was exhausting. They had managed to get away from Reaper and Talon. But, at what cost? He dropped his pulse rifle, creating a splash in a puddle. It would be fine, it could get a bit wet. 

“What the actual fuck McCree?” He hissed, throwing the visor to the ground, glaring at the other. “You had a clear shot of him, and you didn’t even try to take it!” He shouted loudly.

“I… Come on Jack, ya know how I am,” Jesse whined, collapsing to his knees, wiping the sweat from his face before removing his hat, fanning himself with it, trying to cool himself down, relaxing with a sigh. Rain began to slowly fall on them, oh so gently. 

“He’s not Gabe anymore, we both know that, it should have been evident when he was fucking shooting at you!” He shouted, this time louder, the man visibly recoiling against it. “He had me by the throat, and you had a perfect shot, and yet, you didn’t take it? I would have taken the shot if it had been you, or should I have just let you lie there and run to save myself? I am beginning to think I should have done that instead.”

“I’ll get him next time,” Jesse said, brown eyes gazing into blue ones. “I promise.” He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t bring himself to kill Reyes, his former mentor. The man had been family to him, had trained him, had taught him nearly everything he knew. 

76 was silent for a long time, catching his breath, legs thankful for the rest. Lungs slowly decreasing, his pulse no longer thrummed loudly in his ears. 

“There won’t be a next time McCree,” he grumbled, immediately grabbing the man by that stupid fucking red serape he always wore, the other immediately kicking at the muddy banks of the river, spurs caked in grass and mud almost instantly. 

 “You fucked up for the last time Jesse,” he insisted, the man’s mechanical hand trying to grasp at him, trying to push him off, but, it had been slightly damaged during the mission of King’s Row, shorting out, weakening it incredible. 

“Lights out,” he snarled, shoving the other’s head under the crystal clear water, one hand holding onto McCree’s hair, the other pressing against his shoulder. He knew it was deeper than it looked, the other wouldn’t be able to reach the bottom to push himself off of. 

The cowboy thrashed around, hair becoming damn, the red serape darkening as it absorbed the water from the river. 

“Quit resisting!” He shouted, even though McCree wasn’t even paying attention, the entire front of him soaked with water and mud, mechanical hand trying to shove off of the bottom of the river bed, which was too saturated to even push off of. Bubbles began to float to the surface, pressing down harder before bringing his elbow down on the other’s back, directly between the shoulder blades, watching as the last of the bubbles fluttered out. He knew all the right places. 

76 watched in satisfaction as the other slowed down, jolting slightly as his body tried to convulse, trying to expel the water from his lungs that he was now swallowing and inhaling. 

The cowboy finally stopped, body going slack, head no longer pressing, no longer _resisting_ against the Soldier’s hand. 

“You didn’t make the cut,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, placing his mask back on and grabbing his weapon.

“The war goes on.”


End file.
